why can't i understand?
him: are you happy? excited?
me: not really.
him: why not?
me: i've said it before; it's just a dance.
him: your mom is just a dance.
me: you're impossible.
him: oh, i know.
me: ...
him: ...
me: ...
him: do you ever feel like it's weird?
me: what?
him: this silence - the space, between us.
me: i don't get it.
him: that's okay. i'm okay. so, what were you saying about school dances? that they're amazingly fun?
me: i don't get you.
him: ... me too, sometimes.
me: it's okay, you're not that bad.
him: haha, what is this? nina being sympathetic?
me: ...
him: i kid, i kid.
me: oh, shut up.
written on the back of a battered notebook.
YOU ARE READING
little talks
Randomi needed to write down almost everything he had said, to reassure myself that he had been real, that we were something that lasted; at least for a little while. - nina [ © jude rigor two-thousand-&-thirteen ]
